Nighttime
by Maglio Hays
Summary: River wakes up from a nightmare and wanders around the ship. River/Mal-ish. Fluffy.


…...

The first hair woke up with a start. It squirmed and stretched, rudely waking the others. Soon her whole head of hair was awake, rustling and tangling. The hair was loud, waking the scalp.

The awake feeling tingled as it moved through her brain to her eyes. She opened them. They waited patiently for the awake-river to tickle her toes before she sat straight up. She giggled when she realized everyone was up. Her toes waved hello and she nodded her head in greeting.

She pulled her left leg from under the covers (without moving the knees and ankles. they are so grumpy in the morning) first and rested it on the air above the floor. She didn't want to startle it.

She started to do the same with her right leg, but she was met with resistance from her blankets. She lost her balance and flopped onto the ground. This is why she should wait for the joints.

She stands up now, fully awake. Why is she awake?

The hair speaks up. River yanks it angrily from her head and throws it to the floor. But it does not have substance, it only floats. It is not really why she woke.

She bends down, ear to the ground, listening. The floor heard her dream.

Not the nightmare about the Academy, silly. The cartwheel dream.

She looked so pretty. It has forgotten how to cartwheel. Can she teach it how?

She looks at her knees. No, they decide. Maybe later. She explains about the grumpy joints to the floor and it sighs.

River stands back up. She glides through her doorway. She sees the hallway. She smiles at the grayness. Sometimes her dorm is too orange.

Too restless.

She walks silently through the ship, wary that any noise will wake someone. She remembers her anger at the hair and uses the situation to explain why they would be angry. She is the hair.

Everyone is having cartwheel dreams tonight.

She continues toward her end.

She reaches the stairs and tilts her head at them. They are smiling. Simon wishes she were more polite. She smiles back.

They are made of metal grating. The little holes look exactly like Mal's eyes after approximately two to four drinks of whiskey (depending on how the job went and if Inara had a client that day) and a dirty joke.

The joke is funny so she laughs too. The stairs keep laughing and smiling though.

The joke is not _that funny. _

_She stops laughing. Her face becomes serious. _

"_It is not so humorous." _

_They keep laughing and they don't look like Mal anymore. _

_They are mean. _

_Laughing at someone, no longer with someone. _

"_Stop laughing!" she whispers. _

_They are cackling now, they know something she doesn't. _

_She is uncomfortable. _

"_Tell me!" she stomps her foot. _

_She spins and lands in a fighting stance before her brain knows her ears heard something move. She relaxes herself, but she is contrite; she has awoken the captain._

"_Not much ta tell" Mal mumbles sleepily, a smartass even semi-conscious. He drags a hand down his face, stretching it. The heat of the friction helps wake him up. Not that he much wants to be awake. She looks concerned though, so he figures he'll be up awhile. "What's the ruckus about?"_

"_The twisting metal. It cackles when there is no melody."_

"_Huh. I see." he pauses. A sleep-heavy head didn't make her ramblings any more sensical. "You goin' back to bed?" She shakes her head._

"_She wants to be at the helm." She looks at him as if he is being unbearably stupid. (he is)_

"_Uh." he grunts his understanding, and waits for her to dart off. She doesn't. He turns away first, heading back to his little bunk, but her wavering voice stops him._

"_The stairs." she pauses, trying to find the words that will make him see. "The dark makes them different. They plot sinister things." She waits while his mind-gears creak slowly. Then something clicks._

"_You're 'fraid o' the stairs?" he is incredulous. She nods; he is close enough. He desperately wants to go back to bed. _

_His brain is not up to finding words to convince her of this new bout of ridiculousness, and his mouth weren't workin' too well at the moment anyhow, so he goes with the first plan that comes to mind: he scoops her up (all 92 pounds of her) and starts up the stairs. _

_She makes some noise of surprise and indignation that quickly devolves into incoherent grumbling, but he pays her no mind. He sets her down gently at the top. "Better?" She nods, her annoyance already dissipating. "Good. While I'm up, might as well see if there's anything needs doin'." _

_He settles himself in Wash's chair. He winces, and wrenches a dinosaur from under him. He tosses it to the floor with some half-hearted swearing._

_River settles herself on the floor in front of the console. She stares up at the big window, trying to imagine the space beyond it._

_Mal flicks some switches, scans the cortex. Satisfied, he leans back and sighs. River, the console, everything drops out of his line of view. He plays connect-the dots with the stars._

"_Like the chicken." she murmurs dreamily, clearly part of an interesting conversation. Mal rubs his forehead lazily, he never understands what that gorram girl is sayin'. His confusion and acceptance roll over her and she feels a tad guilty for not explaining. "Used to fly. Then it's wings were clipped; couldn't soar. The man kept clipping wings. Chickens forgot to want to fly. People from Earth-that-was saw the chicken. Knew it was wrong. But the chicken didn't want to fly anymore. Lost the taste of freedom." She looks satisfied with her answer, she thinks she has explained it perfectly. She returns to viewing the stars._

"_Huh." Mal furrows his brow, pondering what she says. He understands the edge of what she says, and that's something. He's tired, and he doesn't push the subject, he just lets the idea roll lazily around his head, gathering some meaning as it goes, but not much. "So where'd chickens come into the conversation?"_

_A thin arm appears in his line of sight, pointing at a star. "The beak," it moves to a star slightly to the left "The eye." She sounds exasperated. "The head, the neck, the back, the tail, the belly." She outlines the chicken with her finger._

"_Of course." He chuckles softly. "It's duck, though." She snorts._

"_It is clearly a chicken."_

"_Duck."_

"_Chicken."_

"_Duck."_

"_Chicken._

"_Duck."_

…_..._


End file.
